This Sunday our church has planned “Bring a Friend Sunday.” The day is the culmination of a series on evangelism, and we had imagined that bringing a friend would be a perfect way to conclude the series. Some people have excitedly shared with me whom they plan to bring with them this Sunday, others have expressed a tinge of anxiety, while others have not mentioned the day (or their fears about inviting friends) at all. We have been using a series of videos to inspire us, distributed postcards and other invitation tools, and created fun social media posts.

But our class this past Sunday had me wondering if we were approaching our event all wrong. In his book Transforming Evangelism, David Gortner talks about the fact that evangelism is not a program or an effort to “get more people in the pews.” Instead, evangelism is about creating an ethos of sharing the good news. That ethos involves doing our own inner work about our own journey in Christ, and cultivating the skills for evangelism, such as practicing gratitude, listening for the holy in other’s stories, strengthening a sense of humility, and knowing the sacred stories that speak most powerfully for us.

We concluded our session with a talk by Michael Harvey, who argues that evangelism is not about bringing people to church, but creating a culture of invitation. He suggests that events like “Bring a Friend Sunday” place “success” in the wrong place. In fact, he says the most important work we can do is invite others. “Whether someone says yes or no is God’s bit. That is not our bit. Our job is to just offer a simple invitation,” says Harvey. By both worrying about inviting and labeling “success” as acceptance, we confuse our work with God’s work. Instead, Harvey suggests that faith communities focusing on faithfulness, not some measure of “success.” Whether the friend you invited comes or not, the church says, “Well done!”

So, I’m officially changing the name of this Sunday to “Invite a Friend Sunday.” If you come to Hickory Neck this week and tell me you invited a friend, I’ll have a gold star waiting for you. I want to hear about your experience in invitation, whether the experience was different than your expectations, and what it was like knowing that the invitation was more important than the return. I suspect we will all grow in Christ in the process. I cannot wait to hear about your experiences in invitation!

In 1984, the gay community in London was seeing a lot of violence and oppression by not only the police, but also the community. In the midst of their own activism, one gay activist caught wind of the Coal Miners who were striking in Wales. Upon watching the violence of the police against the strikers, the activist realized their suffering was not unlike his own, and that of the gay community. And so, in an act of solidarity and love, he organized his gay community to raise funds to support the families of the striking miners.

But not everyone was on board. You see, the miners worked in small towns in which many members of the gay community had once lived. In those small communities, they had been bullied, taunted, and beaten. And now someone was asking them to come to their aid. Many in the gay community could not turn the other cheek. Why should they return hatred with love? And as the gay activists soon learned, their help would not be readily received. Why should the gay community risk further rejection, shame, and violence to support an oppressed people who could not see their commonality?

Jesus shares a meal with his disciples as he has done on so many occasions. Only on this night, he is among friend and foe. He knows Judas is about to betray him. He knows that Judas is about to put into motion a series of actions that cannot be stopped, that will lead to pain and suffering, and ultimately death. Looking into Judas’ eyes, Jesus must have felt a betrayal so deep that he had to resist hatred as a human response. “How could you?” would be an easy question for Jesus to ask in this intimate moment.

But Jesus does not do that. He does not challenge Judas or reprimand or even expose Judas in front of the others directly. No, he takes off his outer robe, takes a bowl and a pitcher of water, and he washes the feet of everyone in that room – not just the feet of those whom he loves – which would have been a poignantly intimate moment anyway. But as he makes his way down the table, he shifts his bowl under the dusty feet of Judas; feet as dirty as the rest of them. He takes the feet of this betrayer of his trust and confidence, and he manages to love Judas as deeply as everyone else. Tenderly, lovingly, he washes the feet of the enemy of the worst kind – an enemy who was once a friend. Love in the face of betrayal.

This year, Jesus’ tenderness with Judas has been haunting me. I do not know about you, but the last thing I want to do is tenderly, lovingly care for my enemy. Society teaches me to have a strong defense, to protect myself, to avoid conflict. The norm is not to kneel down before a betrayer of trust, to make oneself subservient, and lovingly treat someone who acts so hatefully. Only a fool makes himself vulnerable before the enemy. And yet, that is what Jesus does. That is how he shows the depths of his love. He does not use his power to thwart the enemy. He restrains his power to bring the enemy in – always with the offering of love that can transform any heart.

Tonight, we will engage in the tradition of washing others’ feet. Many of us get caught up the squeamishness of feet and the vulnerability such intimacy involves. But something much bigger happens in foot washing than letting go of self-consciousness. In foot washing we enter into the love of Christ: washing the feet of those we know well and love; washing the feet of those we know only superficially; washing the feet of those who seem to have their lives totally together and those who we know are suffering; washing the feet of someone who has indeed offended you, and washing the feet of someone with whom you wish to reconcile.

But what we do literally here, we take out figuratively into the world. Washing the feet of someone you know, or even someone you do not know well in church is one thing. Washing the feet of the people who are not here is another thing entirely. Though Jesus’ washed his disciples’ feet, the inclusion of Judas suggests that loving one another cannot be limited to the community of believers.[i] All we have to do is imagine an actual enemy, someone who has betrayed our trust or offended our values, someone who oppresses the oppressed, and then we know how hard what Jesus does is tonight. Tonight, some powerful feelings are set loose: sorrow, loss, regret, even fear; but also some powerful feelings are set loose by Jesus: commitment, conviction, and determination. God lays aside everything tonight.[ii] Enter into Christ’s love tonight through the example he sets for us. Know that God will use the power of this act to change your heart.

A year after that bold move by the gay community in London in the 1980s, much had happened. Horrible things were said, mean things were done, violence erupted, commitments were betrayed, and help was rejected. But a year later, even after ultimately losing their cause, the mineworkers did something out of character. Chapter after chapter of mineworkers loaded onto buses, came to London, and marched for gay rights with their new brothers and sisters. God’s love has tremendous power. Even if that love cannot transform the heart of a Judas, the witness of that love slowly breaks through and transforms communities. Join us tonight as we start locally. Know that God will use your small action here to do bigger work out in the world! Amen.

The older I have become, the more solid my support system has become. Over time, I have figured out in which friendships to invest my time, and which friendships, while fun, are not necessarily nourishing. I know which friend to call when I need fashion advice and which friend to call when I need major life decision advice. I have learned which friend to find when I want to be comforted, and which friend to find when I need to be discomforted. The discomforting friend is probably the most valuable one any of us has. That is the friend who will tell you the brutal, ugly, harsh truth – not to be mean to you but to save you from going down a dark path, to snap you out of a rut, or to help you get your act together. Of course, sometimes we avoid that friend like the plague because we are not ready to hear the truth. But when we feel ourselves slipping away, when we feel drawn in by temptation, or when we simply feel incapable of doing the right thing, we know we can trust that friend to hold us accountable to being the best version of ourselves – the version God created us to be.

This morning, the lectionary seems to be filled with discomforting friends. In First Kings, we hear about the ultimate showdown with the prophets of Baal and Elijah, the prophet of the Lord. The story is dramatic, with Baal’s prophets comically trying to rain down fire to prove Baal’s power, and Elijah showing them up by demonstrating the Lord’s triumph. But we quickly learn that Elijah is one of those discomforting friends when he says to the people of God, “How long will you go limping with two different opinions? If the Lord is God, follow him; but if Baal, then follow him.”[i] Desperate for rain in a three-year drought, the people of God have begun to hedge their bets. They figure they can worship both Baal and the Lord. But Elijah will not let them be so divided. Either they trust in the Lord their God, or they do not.

If Elijah sounds harsh, you should hear Paul this morning. Paul starts his letter to the Galatians with a traditional greeting, but we can tell from his lack of thanksgiving for the community, that some harsh words are about to come.[ii] After a quick introduction, Paul cuts to the chase, “I am astonished that you are so quickly deserting the one who called you in the grace of Christ and are turning to a different gospel…”[iii] At the heart of the issue is whether Gentile converts must adhere to Jewish laws. The Galatians want to narrow the wideness of the gospel, while Paul wants to expand the reach of the gospel. So angry and defiant is Paul that he practically shouts, “If I were still pleasing people, I would not be a servant of Christ.”[iv] In other words, Paul has no interest in soothing feelings in Galatia. He is only interested in correcting behavior and preserving the abundance of the gospel.[v]

And if Elijah and Paul were not harsh enough this morning, Jesus rounds us out with a scathing indictment of the faithful. A centurion, a Roman solider, and sometimes enemy of the people of God, sends a message to Jesus. Despite the fact that he is not Jewish, he sends word to Jesus twice – first, asking Jesus to heal his sick slave, and second, insisting that Jesus not make the journey, but only speak a word of healing from afar. The text tells us that Jesus, who is very rarely reactive, is “amazed,” and criticizes the faithful of God by saying, “I tell you, not even in Israel have I found such faith.”[vi] If we think about who is gathered around Jesus, we are not just talking about some delinquent followers. Jesus says in front of disciples and everyone that none of them has had the same dedication and faith in Jesus as this outsider. Jesus has no problem being brutally honest about the people’s lack of faith and trust in Jesus.

If you were hoping for a nice, affirming set of lessons today, a time set apart with that friend who always encourages and affirms you, you picked the wrong Sunday. We might have guessed the brutal honesty was coming when we prayed our collect today. The collect says, “O God, your never-failing providence sets in order all things both in heaven and earth: Put away from us, we entreat you, all hurtful things, and give us those things which are profitable for us…”[vii] In other words, we prayed God would not be that comforting friend today – but would be the discomforting friend that we need.

Now you may be sitting here wondering what kind of discomfort I will be dishing out today. Or you may be wondering on what issue I think we need work. The good news is that I do not have such a charge today. I suspect that you already know where you need discomfort. Your discomfort may need to be from Elijah, who warns about putting idols before God – putting your trust and hope in places and things that will not satisfy. Or maybe your discomfort needs to come from Paul, who warns about putting restrictions on the wideness of God’s mercy. Or maybe your discomfort needs to come from Jesus, who can point to non-believers who seem to trust God more than you. You alone know how the Spirit is speaking to your need for discomfort.

However, even though you alone know how the Spirit is speaking to your need for discomfort, you are not alone in needing that discomfort. One of my favorite parts of our liturgy is the confession. One, I find the confession immensely centering because every week, one phrase or part of the confession jumps out at me – whether something I have done or left undone is nagging me; whether I have sinned against God or my neighbor; or whether I have just strayed that week. Even though we say the confession every week, the confession never ceases to unsettle me. Two, I find the confession comforting because of all the voices that join me in the confession. I love hearing young and old voices, male and female voices, and voices with every accent imaginable confessing the same failings that I confess. The power of that communal act is always humbling and comforting.

Now I know I told you that you should not have come to church today if you were looking for comfort. But the truth is, I find all the discomfort today wildly comforting. Whether we are pushed by our discomforting witnesses in scripture, whether we are jolted by something in our communal confession, or whether we realize that we need to call our best discomforting friend immediately after church, I find the reminder that I am not the only one who needs discomfort comforting today. I am comforted because I know after the discomfort comes, something akin to a fire is lit inside me. The discomfort is usually just what I need to reinvigorate my walk with Christ and sharply focus on where God is calling me to be. If that is not good news, I do not know what is. Amen.

Today we honor Charles Freer Andrews. Born in Birmingham, England, in 1871, Andrews was ordained a priest in 1897. Turned on to social justice efforts in college, Andrews became interested in the cause of social justice throughout the British Empire, especially in India. In 1904, he began to teach philosophy in Delhi, where his students and colleagues began to refer to him by an Indian name which means “Friend of the Poor.” Andrews openly criticized the racist treatment of the Indian people by British officials, and in 1913 he successfully mediated a cotton worker’s strike which could have become violent. He travelled to South Africa to help Indians there. While there, he met Gandhi. Andrews was impressed by Gandhi’s teaching of non-violence, knowledge of Christian faith and practice of peace. Andrews and Gandhi worked together to negotiate matters of Indian authority with the British government. Andrews also took up the Indian cause in Fiji, and eventually returned to England where he taught about social justice and radical discipleship.

I am sure Andrews was no stranger to our text from Deuteronomy today. The passage is all about the sabbatical year, where debts were forgiven. The passage warned the faithful against scheming around the rules of the seventh year. Knowing that year was approaching, people were hesitant to give to those whose debts would be quickly forgiven. Instead, the people of God are told, “Open your hand to the poor and needy neighbor in your land.”

In many ways, St. Margaret’s is a faithful witness to opening our hands. We are constantly collecting food and basic toiletries, giving gifts to the less fortunate and growing produce to feed the hungry. We give liberally and ungrudgingly, as the text suggests. But in all our good works, I sometimes wonder whether we could be labeled “Friend of the Poor,” as Andrews was. It is one thing to give good or money to the poor, a necessary and important effort, but giving to the poor is not the same as being their friend. Being a friend means getting involved, hearing their stories, finding out how they got to where they are today. That work is much harder and messier, yet more meaningful.

Last week a story broke about Pope Francis and the Vatican opening up a new set of showers and a barber shop for the homeless of Rome. The facility is beautiful and the homeless are treated with dignity and care. The Vatican is trying to live into a life that embraces the poor and recognizes their humanity. Now whether they become “friends of the poor” is something that is yet to be seen. We all have that same invitation – to see the dignity of every human being and then to try to be their friend. Good luck with your work! Amen.